Almost
by Kalloway
Summary: Mercy is visited one night by a shadow, and for a fleeting moment, she's almost convinced it's human.


**"Mercy is visited one night by a shadow, and for a fleeting moment, she's almost convinced it's human."**

* * *

This day was a blessing for Angela so far – a reprieve from the seemingly endless chaos and bloodshed in the world. She had heard nothing terrible on the news, she hadn't had to treat life-threatening wounds... it was almost unnerving to her how quiet it had been. But wasn't this a taste of the peace she, and many others, so desired? Perhaps she was just getting used to it, after all these years.

Goodness, she _hoped_ not. Violence was violence, and would only lead to _more_ violence. She couldn't let herself become this desensitized from it, lest she one day be able to _tolerate_ it.

Violence was what had stolen her family from her. Violence had taken Morrison and Reyes, and so many others she'd come to care for. Maybe it couldn't be stopped entirely, but it was more than possible to _reduce_ the amount of violence and hate in the world. One small step at a time. That possibility alone drove her to take monumental strides in her field of work. She could save so many lives... so many lives that could be the turning point – that could be the spark of change, of _hope_ , that would change the world as she knew it.

In a way, perhaps it was unwise to be so hopeful. More than once, had she had such hope crushed when things went wrong. Did things _ever_ go wrong, when they did. She shook her head. She couldn't let herself start brooding now. Such an action is so terribly unhealthy in this line of work, she forces it back as she tucked her hair behind her ear as she focused back on the paperwork she was currently working on. Or supposed to be, anyway.

It'd always been hard for Mercy to ignore a train of thought once it began, and she found herself thinking back to Overwatch. _The old days._ She set her pen down and laced her fingers together. Another fine example of what violence can do. But she was wiser than to blame herself for something that was never in her control to begin with. She'd tried to reason with both Morrison and Reyes, but one was so hellbent on doing the 'right thing', and the other was so radically opposed to the strike commander with every fiber of his being. He'd grown to be so jealous and spiteful in such a relatively short span of time. Reyes had always been a little bit... off, since she met him. Not so much at first, but at that point in time it became impossible to ignore. Unstable and aggressive – yet she was still so fond of him.

She'd had so much _hope_ for him. Now, Angela knew better than anyone that you couldn't solve what was potentially a chronic mental disorder with hope and tenderness. Oh no, far from the truth. But she wanted him to recognize what he'd become, and maybe get him to stop and think about his actions. Think about _himself_ as a person and what effect he had on people. Maybe then he'd be able to have some control over it. An idealistic theory from someone who was by no means a psychologist, she had to admit, but it was one she so wanted to believe in at the time.

That idea never did get a chance to actually come to fruition though, did it?

How he had survived that blast, even _with_ the benefits of that Soldier Enhancement Program, was completely beyond her. She tried to save him – oh, how intense her own will for him to live was at the time – but she supposed her string of excellent circumstance and innovation had to end at some point. Right in the middle of such a delicate operation. Truthfully, she didn't want to believe the procedure had failed to badly... not on Reyes. But it _was_ a learning point for her. She'd since refined and perfected the procedure and the nanobiology was exceptionally stable in her patients.

But that was _now_. And Reyes had needed it _then_.

 _Verdammt, Angela! Get a hold of yourself. You're a doctor – these things happen and are beyond your control._ She wasn't to blame. Was she?

A cold breeze sent a chill down her spine and finally kicked her out of that downward spiral she'd unintentionally sent herself into. She composed herself and stretched her legs before walking over from her desk to the window to close it. Funny, she didn't recall leaving it open. But maybe the fresh air wasn't so bad. Perhaps that's what she _needed_ right now to spin her head around straight. An evening stroll didn't sound half bad, especially when she'd been sitting at her desk for so long – how long had it been, now?

She turned to catch the time on the clock across the room, but it was suddenly so much darker than it was a moment ago. The light was still on, but a dark, malevolent mist – almost like a shadow – was hanging heavy in the room. An abrupt feeling of dread overwhelmed her senses. What _was_ this? What surprised her most was, oddly enough, the fact that it honestly wasn't an unreasonable hour of the night. A peculiar time for something so outwardly _strange_. The shadow shifted and grew to form a humanoid figure. Very suddenly, she didn't want to see what or, God forbid, _who_ this was.

Yet again, this was another thing completely beyond her control, as the stark white mask came into view.

She'd just wanted to finish her paperwork. Instead, she'd absentmindedly summoned _trouble_ to her own doorstep. There's that saying, when you speak of the Devil, so he'll show. She understood what that meant now. In front of her, the tall, broad form of Reaper stood ahead of her, ever the exemplar of his namesake. A long, tense silence filled the room until he drawled, "Doctor."

She felt like her throat was being constricted by some unseen force when her voice cracked, "What are _you_ doing here?"

His laugh reverberated despite the room never having any sort of echo before. It only served to make him seem more supernatural than he actually was, "Ah, good doctor. Didn't you hear?" His body language suddenly became smug, "I work the graveyard shift."

She was completely unimpressed, "You come out of your way – a _murderer_ no less – just to make that joke?"

He tensed up abruptly, "Who are _you_ to call me a murderer?"

"I know what you do. I've seen the aftermath of what you do to people. Regardless of what you may think, that's murder."

He tilted his head as if in thought for a moment, "Still acting holier-than-thou, are we? Damn shame."

"If you're here to kill me, then please just get it over with." She didn't have the patience to deal with his mannerisms, and she _especially_ had no patience for cold-blooded _killers_ either.

A sigh, "As much as we'd both love it if I did, that's not why I'm here." Well that threw her theories out the window. He crossed his arms over his chest, "I don't consider myself an unreasonable man. I owe you one from long ago, and I intended to make it even"

She was confused, "So... you came all this way, just so you didn't have to 'owe me'? For what?"

"For being a _guardian angel_."

 _Now_ she recalled what he was referring to. Back when Overwatch was still whole and in effect, before Reyes completely tumbled down his dark path, there was what she would refer to as an 'incident' in which she was acting purely on impulse. He was in danger, his assailant was taking his time getting to him to delay what was probably going to be the inevitable. It was happenstance that she glanced in that direction and saw him in trouble, as she'd just finished healing an innocent caught in the fray. Before she acknowledged it, she'd flown over to him and landed between him and his attacker, standing tall and confident as she pointed her sidearm at him. The wings of her Valkyrie Suit had happened to catch the light in such a way that the hostile was distracted, if only momentarily, but it was enough time for Reyes to recover. She was planning to let him continue as he was, but she found herself staring the man down past her weapon, "You shall rue the day you made the decision to live this life, _murderer_."

That was one of the only times she had killed a man outside of self-defense. She didn't look back on it fondly, for it was a moment she blatantly ignored her own principles and ideology; the irony of her statement before pulling the trigger wasn't lost on her. She acted out of character to save a life, and it had honestly _frightened_ her. Why did this not surprise her that he'd remember something like _that_?

Angela looked away from him, "I was no angel that day."

"Sure you were." She looked back at him, surprised, "No need to be modest, Doc. It was a bold move that saved my life. The only attempt that actually went _right_ , that is."

The jab hit her hard. He certainly knew how to make her feel guilty, "I-I don't see how this is relevant."

"How convenient for you. I was under the impression that doctors had to be honest with their patients?"

She didn't reply, but instead watched him as he turned his back to her to glance down at the medical files she had been writing up. He was hard to read, he always had been, but the mask made it even more difficult. All she had to work with was his body language, but with his back turned to her he had effectively closed the door on her.

How different things could have been. He so despised her for trying to _help_ him. Would he have preferred if she'd left him for dead? Was his current state so painful and hellish that he'd _want_ to die? She didn't understand. Life was worth living, and it was how the individual lived it that made it that way. She certainly knew it couldn't be him being miserable because he's a murderer. He always enjoyed conflict.

Her train of thought was cut off, "Morrison's alive, you know."

"What?" It was so out of the blue, she didn't understand where he'd gotten that from.

"They never found his body, 'cause he's still out there. Stubborn prick."

It had been a long time since she'd heard him speak in that tone. He really _did_ hate Jack, didn't he? A part of her had always hoped she had misinterpreted it, "That's... a possibility, yes."

His voice raised like his temper, "It's not a 'possibility', Doc. I _saw_ him." He clenched his hands into fists as he lowered his voice again, "I saw him, and all I could think of was crushing his windpipe in one hand." He mimicked his fantasy with a clawed hand, "Saw _red_. Last time that happened was back in LA as a kid, when I kicked the shit out of some asshole who thought he could shove me around without consequence."

She was afraid of where this conversation might turn up, "You were going to-"

"I _wanted_ to kill him. So badly. And you know what?" She shook her head when he gave her a look, "I _didn't_."

Her heart felt like it dropped when a sneaking suspicion rose up, "You didn't?"

"I thought of _you_ after a moment. I didn't kill him that time because I was reminded of _you_. It pisses me off like you'd never believe, Doc, and it makes me hate him even more."  
"Why _him_?" The question escaped before she could stop herself.

His shoulders tensed, "He doesn't deserve what he had, and now he lives like he can just forget it all. He had _everything_ , and he threw it all away."

He calls Jack 'stubborn', when he's just as bad, she noticed. His contempt of Jack was never more apparent than when he spoke of him, and that rang true even now. _Especially_ now. She had a feeling he had survived the destruction of the Swiss headquarters – if Reyes could, then Jack could too, was how she'd viewed it. But it was surreal to actually _acknowledge_ it, like a truth. Coming from Reyes, it sounded unbelievably sincere – he would never get so worked up over it if it wasn't. He was always the most unsettled around him... it was hard to believe they were friends once.

Caught up in her thoughts, she hadn't noticed he'd reverted to a shadow and re-materialized behind her until she felt a clawed finger casually run down her spine. She shuddered out of reflex and caught him in her peripheral vision, mask tilted down and away like he was lost in thought like she had been. This was all so confusing and bizarre. She'd seen him in action as 'Reaper' on the battlefield on occasion before – he was a merciless, cruel killer. Yet here he was, relatively passive... she couldn't shake her suspicion that this was, more likely than not, just the calm before the storm. With him, it _always_ was.

He muttered to himself, his voice still reverberating as always, "He doesn't appreciate it. He never did."

She gave him a despondent frown, "Gabriel..."

There it was. Up close she could read his actions better, and she didn't miss the way his whole body tensed up at the sound of his name. His _real_ name. He dug his hand into her back for a moment, contrasting with his strangely gentle tone, "Don't ruin this for me."

She turned to face him, not looking into the soulless mask and instead focusing on the crook of his elbow – _the antecubital fossa,_ her inner perfectionist corrected – where she noticed his skin was exposed. How sickly pale it looked, compared to what she'd remembered of him. She brushed a knuckle across it and watched as his arm flinched in reflex, exactly like it did years ago while testing him for a medical. It seemed he was still ticklish there, despite the constant regeneration and decaying cycle of his cells. Interesting.

He continued to ghost his hand down her back, almost tenderly, as he kept his gaze presumably on her face, watching her expressions as she studied him.

 _How different things could have been_.

More than anything in the world at the moment, despite the grim promise what little of his skin showed, she longed to see his face again. Was he still _him_ under that mask? Or was that man long gone? No... this small, fleeting moment of mutual compassion was a sign of something. Like he was almost... still there. Not the so-called _abomination_ – not her own term for it, she reminds herself – he had become. Part of him was still there. If only...

His other hand had come up to gently drag the clawed fingertips across her collarbone and to the side of her neck. Not threateningly, but she did her best to remain weary. This was Reyes, after all. Unpredictable and aggressive... yet her heart ached for him. _For the old days_. She wished she hadn't been intimidated by him for so long before getting to know him a little. His skin was so cold though... she was starting to wonder if his heart was still beating underneath it all. She placed her hand on top of his on the side of her neck, grazing a thumb across his knuckles in a kind gesture.

She was conflicted. She so badly just wanted to...

"...see your face."

Her treacherous hands had snaked their way to his own neck and hovered near his jaw – or where she presumed it to be – without her even noticing. Was she really this easily distracted? He stiffened yet again, hands snatching her wrists to push them away. Pushing _her_ away.

 _Please don't do this, Gabe._

He stared down at her for a long moment before returning to his shadowy form and reappeared by the window she'd closed earlier. It only now clicked that _that_ had been his way of entry. He was going to leave.

 _Please._

They were making progress – the progress she'd always wanted to see with him. Now it was going to be tossed away. _'He had_ everything _, and he threw it all away.'_

Morrison and Reyes were so much more alike than they'd like to admit. A part of her always knew that.

He finally broke the silence, "You always know just how to fix me up, Doc."

She gave him a wry smile, "I'll be sending you my consultation fee."

He laughed – almost sounded like a scoff, but she knew better, "Put it on my tab."

"You can't have a tab for a _doctor._ "

"Doesn't hurt to try."

Another awkward span of silence. He was stalling, like he didn't want to leave.

The feeling was mutual.

She sighed, "After this, we're even, yes?"

His tone became considerably less amused as he settled back to his usual disposition, "Yeah. No more favours."

"Of course. I understand." She bit her lip before she decided to be bold, "Though I enjoyed this time together."

She heard him exhale sharply, "As did I." He pushed her window back open, and the cold breeze came rushing back inside. He gave her a brief glance over his shoulder, "Next time we meet, I'll tear off your wings with my bare hands. Promise."

He was back to the 'Reaper' persona now, if that last comment meant anything. He certainly knew how to intimidate someone though, "I'll... take your word for it?"

He made a sound in acknowledgement before returning to his wraith-like form and 'flowing' out the open window into the night, lost to the darkness.

Her somewhat enlightened mood now dropped back into her previous brooding state. He hadn't even been here for very long, but it had felt like an eternity at the time. An eternity that couldn't last long enough. She stretched her arms and cracked her back before walking back over to her desk at the disorganized papers there. The first files that were in the pile were now pushed into view on her desk – Reye's doing no less. They were old Overwatch medical documents, some of the first she'd written for them, in fact. The only reason she had them was because they were later replaced by their updated counterparts that had been lost with the old headquarters.

The first couple faces she noticed in the center were of Morrison, Reyes and Amari.

Suddenly, she felt uneasy. Reaper had been tracking down old Overwatch agents and eradicating them systematically, it seemed, and though there was no current up-to-date information on those papers... she then noticed how crinkled Reye's file was. Shaking her head, she concluded that there was no possible way she was going to be finished sorting through these files – both old and new – today, at least. Changing into her night clothes and turning off the light, she fell into her bed and lingered awake in the darkness for a short while.

No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't shake the feeling of his fingertips ghosting her spine... and how long he had lingered between her shoulder blades. _'I'll tear off your wings with my bare hands.'  
_ In a way, he might as well have done so already, with the way her back seemed to burn where he'd touched as she drifted off into a dreamless slumber.


End file.
